


Christmas Contention

by OberonsEarring



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 17:00:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16769227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OberonsEarring/pseuds/OberonsEarring
Summary: Logan has doubts.





	Christmas Contention

Cyclops had been in the med bay for three weeks now, his body shattered by Juggernaut, and still unconscious. Reyes had explained the concussion and the bleed on the brain, the pulverized kidneys that needed multiple operations, and all of the broken bones. He wasn't out of the danger zone yet, and everyday, Cecilia Reyes warned them to prepare for the worst.

Juggernaut killed Christmas. At least for Logan.

Kitty chased after him, grabbed his arm and drug him back to the small model shop on the corner. Planes, trains, and automobiles. Models of all shapes and sizes and price range. “What about something like this?” she asked. 

“Scott don't play with toys, punkin'.”

She almost looked hurt by the grump, but she swallowed it down and smiled. “Maybe that's because he doesn't have any.” She took a deep breath and a long pause. “He's going to be okay, Logan. He'll make it through. He always does.”

“I should have been there,” he said quietly. It was just a few blocks away where it happened. Jugs turned up for no reason at all other than to get the X-men's attention. He yelled and screamed and hollered until Cyke showed up with Hellion and Colossus, Psylocke and Angel. They'd fought hard and fast. They knew how to do this, how to get his helmet off, how to take him down, but they'd screwed up. The most well-prepped team in the world, missed a step, and with it, a car was thrown through the air, bashing Cyclops against the wall of the bank. He'd actually died on scene, with Betsy having to revive him twice before back-up appeared.

Logan didn't find out for three days. They'd been in an argument the night before, over Scott's lack of words – the same old thing, and it drove Logan crazy. “I can't read your mind, bub,” he'd growled. 

Scott was stoic even then. His jaw gritted, his hands relaxed at his side. If it weren't for the light shade of blush that pricked the top of his ears, Logan would have thought he'd gone unheard. “You're awfully grumpy today,” Scott had deadpanned, taking his cup of coffee and going into the bathroom.

“Don't you do that, Scott. Don't you walk away from this.”

“I have to brush my teeth, Logan.”

“We need to talk, Scott.”

Which was the whole problem. Scott didn't talk, unless it was about the mission, and that silence, even as they lie in bed together, made him antsy.

Taking the toothbrush out of his mouth, Scott stared into the mirror, the glint of red lenses centered upon Logan. “I love you, okay? Is that what you want me to say?”

“Fuck you, Summers.”

“Logan--”

He'd left, then. For three days. Wandered around some backwater town in the middle of Kentucky, drinking himself into a bellyache and smoking all the cigars he could find. There was no Cyclops to snuff his nose at his habits, no Summers to wait on in the middle of night to finally get done with his work. No, there was no Scott, and it made feel cold inside, as if he'd lost the best part of himself.

“You can't blame yourself,” Kitty told him. Looking up into snow-drenched sky, she wriggled her mouth into a gentle grin. “Fights happen, especially as long as you two have been together.”

The model shop was a confining space, hung floor to ceiling with little plastic replicas. Planes, trains and automobiles of every shape and size. Cessna jets and military tanks, hot rods and large, block-like vans. “Not very romantic getting him a model of something that damn near destroyed his life.”

She hadn't thought of that, the plane wreck. She only knew that Scott was a plane enthusiast. He'd taken her once to see the Blue Angels during their yearly show at Graceland. She'd been skeptical at first, not sure that an old fashioned air show would be her cup of tea, but she'd thoroughly enjoyed herself. “He knew the capabilities of each of those planes, Logan. I think he's long past the crash. I think he's made his peace with it.”

Which was true, most of the time. There were other times, though, times he told no one about, when the nightmares came for weeks on end. His lover would wake up in a sweat, heaving and gasping for air. It would take him hours to calm down, the memory and that dream having been entrenched in his psyche by Sinister. Not even the professor had been able to remove it.

“I don't know, doll. It doesn't seem so thoughtful. Besides, he'd never have time to make it. He barely has time for me.”

“Don't think like that, Logan. He does a lot for us.”

He shrugs. Knowing how much he did for them didn't change the fact that for five years, he'd been largely alone, even though Scott was supposed to be with him. “Maybe I should just get him a tie.”

“That's what everyone gets him.”

“Maybe he likes them.”

“Maybe people don't know him like you do.” Which was true. “Okay, if not a model, then what do you think he wants?”

“He doesn't want anything. The bastard's happy with what he has.”

“But you're not?” she gathered from the tone.

He picked out a P-63 King Cobra model plane – not because it meant anything special to either one of them, but because it had the most movable parts. “The man struggles to say good morning half the time, punkin'. Makes it hard to figure out if I'm annoying him or if he actually wants me around.”

“What'd you get him last year?” she asked as they turned the corner, happening upon an old junk shop.

“A journal that he's never touched. Still right where I left it on his desk.”

The junk shop was one of their more interesting stops of the day. More of an antique shop with oddities thrown in than gags and such. Old hoop birdcages and feathered hats, coins from all over the world and ornate jewelry in the shape of peacocks. Kitty showed him an old musket from the 1800's, a rusted thing, no longer usable, and if Scott believed in guns, he would have bought it on the spot. They looked at a few supposed relics – vases and arrow heads – and already cracked geodes and their plethora of crystals. “Too bad they're not ruby red quartz,” Kitty mused, but Wolverine reminded her that Scott hated the glasses that he was forced to wear and so ruby red anything was out of the question.

He came upon a set of gold bands, dull, lackluster things in serious need of polishing. The inscription inside said simply 'Love is constant'. “Too bad these don't fit us,” he said.

“You're going to propose?” she gasped, her face lit with ten thousand lights and a candle.

“No.” And her face fell with the answer. They were good together. She saw it, everyone saw it, so she was not sure what was stopping him. “Told you before, punkin', I don't know if he wants me around or not.”

“Can you live without him?”

Logan didn't answer.

He settled upon a blank journal with a dusty cover and an old quill pen and ink set. He knew that Scott had learned calligraphy from the professor, and he could imagine Scott sitting on their balcony writing out the day's activities. Logan would wrap his arms around the man's neck, kiss his cheek and wish him good morning. Oh, how he wanted that. Just something for him, just a few moments of time and acknowledgment. 

“I thought you got him one last year.”

“Well, maybe he'll use this one.”

He left Scott's gifts under the tree in the med lab, those meager little parcels. They're not glittery or shiny, but they're wrapped, and thoughtful. “He's going to pull through, Logan,” Kitty assured him once again before stretching long and ushering herself off to bed.

The days passed all too slowly then, with Logan visiting the medlab in the mornings and evenings. On Christmas Eve, he went to the store himself and picked up those gold bands, along with two fine gold chains upon which to hang them. “You should put them under the tree,” Kitty told him later that morning when she spied them laying on the desk. 

He cursed himself for having them out, for being so melodramatic. “I have thirty days to return them,” he issued all too quickly, betraying his own nervousness, and stuffed them back in his pocket. He hated this, the doubt, the too-many thoughts. He hated that he went to bed alone, that he woke up alone, that he waited alone while Scott underwent yet another surgery.

It was ten o'clock by the time Reyes poked her head around the door and invited Logan in. The surgery went without incident, but recovery would be a bitch. “He has something for you,” she said quietly, and handed him a snowflake wrapped parcel. “But you can't open it until Christmas.” Which was only two hours away now, but Reyes deemed to hold him to it.

Logan watched Scott's chest fall up and down in a dazed pattern of breath. He'd been off the respirator for a couple of days now, which was a good sign, but he wasn't out of the woods yet. There was still a lot of damage, which was evidenced by the bulging bruise that went from jaw to hairline. It was hard to see him like this. Harder still to know that at any moment, Scott could give up and Logan's last words would have been his angered curse. “You're a stubborn asshole, you know that?” he asks, quietly. “It's like sun rises and sets because of you sometimes. If you ain't there, then the world will know nothing but the moon. I just want to know that I'm at least in there sometimes, you know?”

And then after a long pause, and swallowing down the hard painful lump in his throat, “Sometimes, I want to be your only thought. Like you are mine.” He looks up at the clock. It's almost midnight now, and Scott stirs so slightly in his sleep that Logan nearly misses the gentle pressure on his hand. Long, cold fingers attempt to curl inside his own. “I don't want to live without you, Scott,” he said, hoping that at least some part of his lover was listening. “I'm hoping you can't live without me.”

He took the chains from his pocket, fastens one around his neck and the other around Scott's. The ring looked odd splayed across the fresh surgical scars and bruises. He took a breath and looked up at the clock again. “This ain't easy. I want you to know that. I got so many doubts running through my head, does he or doesn't he, all that shit. But, there's one thing I know for sure, Scott Summers. I want to spend my life with you. Will you marry me?”

Cold fingers attempted to squeeze, but there was so little life in them that they failed. Logan watched for long moments as he tried to speak through the haze of anesthesia. The heart monitor began to pick up the pace, and Reyes was quick to dial up the meds to put him out again. She apologized wholeheartedly, her face lilted in a sweet smile. “He needs his rest,” she said. “He's had a long night.” 

With a sigh, feeling more uneasy than ever, he took his present and journeyed up to the room that the two men shared. It was one of the larger rooms in the mansion, big enough for a king size bed and a love seat. There was a balcony outside at its center, where the lawn furniture sat mostly unused. It had been ages since he and Scott sat out there for morning coffee. It had been ages since they did anything but work. 

He sat on the bed, missing the warmth of the other man next to him, his head on his chest, and the soft sounds of sleep. He missed that good night kiss, and the way that Scott kicked off the blankets every night, regardless of how cold it was. 

The small gift wrapped package was nothing extraordinary, at least not from the outside. No bows or ribbons, and it was weighted like a book. Of course, Logan liked to read, and he could imagine all of the practical books Scott had chosen for him during the course of his shopping those months ago. Computers for Dummies, Finances for the Super Hero Set. How to Cook Eggs and Fifty Other Easy Recipes. That had been another of their arguments, that Scott never had time for breakfast. Just coffee and a shower and he was out the door. 

Opening the package, his heart sank when he saw the journal that he got for Scott last year. “Forgot I gave it to you, didn't you, bub,” he mumbled to himself, his mouth thick with saliva and his jaw mildly shaking. He absently toyed with the ring around his neck, now regretting his on the spur proposal. He should have listened to his instincts and waited. 

Outside on the balcony, he sat under moonlight, pondering his place in this world. It would be easy enough to leave, to give Scott a break. Summers was never going to tell him that he was unwanted. He didn't have it in him, not when it came to the team. 

It was by chance that the winter wind picked up the cover of the leather-bound journal and fluttered through the pages. 'Day 167: I'm sorry, Logan.' He blinked several times, at first thinking he was imagining the page full of neat, tiny letters. 'I don't say that enough either, do I? I should say it more often. I should say everything more often. I was on the field today, but all I could think of was our fight, and how scared I was to lose you. I got a fist to face for my distraction. I'm not good with words, Logan. But, I wish you'd trust me when I tell you that I love you. Sometimes I think I can say it a thousand times and you still won't believe me. So now I've said it a thousand and one, and I'll say it a thousand and one more by the end of this book. Maybe then, you'll understand – my thoughts always come back to you.'

Every page was a thought, a note, a piece of heart displayed upon the page. A year's worth messages, including at the end. 'Day 350: It's Cecilia again. He told me to write that he loves you in here, and then I put him back to sleep. He's in too much pain to be awake for long, but Logan, you're the only person he begs to see. He knows when you're here. He says he can still hear your voice. I think you're the reason that he's hanging on, so please, keep coming. For him, for you, for the rest of us who depend on his leadership. Don't let him down, okay? He needs you.'

Christmas Day came and went, and for the first time in a long time, Logan felt settled and happy. “Did he say yes, Logan?” Kitty asked, gesturing towards the ring around his neck.

“He's still asleep, sweetheart, but he will. He'll say yes.”


End file.
